


Fingers

by superagentwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Other, Poor Stiles, Short, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The possession feels worse every time because he's getting weaker, and the nogitsune knows it. Stiles tries to deal with the pain while hoping that he'll die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fingers

He knows when his eyelids close that this sleep won’t be restful.

It comes slowly, fingernails against the backs of burning eyes that are searing, wide open and raw. He wants to rip those eyes out and never see what he’s seen again- the sharp teeth, the dirtied cloth, the twisted mockery of a mouth, the stuttering gait. Blood, fire, claws and bone and eyes the color of leaves before they die flash before him like gunshots, rapid and loud and unforgiving. He cannot move and he wants to scream at those limbs lying useless on the sheets with their iron bone and lead muscles. The tearing becomes violent and he thinks that he can feel blood and tissue, mangled and exposed.

He will start trying to distract himself now because it will only get worse. There are hands upon his ankles that burn with the heat of something ancient and furious. Fingers sneak under his skin with malicious force, tracing his bones with grating pressure. He tries to separate himself from the white-hot pain by thinking of the names of the bones that are being scraped like leftovers with a serrated knife, careless in brutality but sure in intent. It is nowhere near over.

The hands make their way upwards and he would shiver in disgust if he wasn’t already shuddering in pain, spasms wracking his body and mocking his inability to move of his own accord. The hands feel filthy and it is a sick feeling that he gets as if they are leaving black stains behind on his insides in places he can’t reach and didn’t know existed. He didn’t know he was clean or pure until those hands started to brand him, their burning digits cracking and crushing.

He can’t help the bile rising in his throat as it makes is way up his thighs. There is laughter somewhere and he tries his hardest not to start crying, knowing _it_ can make him hurt more before it reaches the point where he starts to change. There isn’t much time but what is left could be the worst of it. He thinks to himself that this is what rape must feel like, knowing what is coming and feeling powerless and used and destroyed. There is nothing intimate about the touch except the fact that it is somewhere he has never been touched and the thought destroys him enough for _it_ to leave the violation as it is, his self-inflicted pain doing damage that makes _it_ laugh.

The hands are at his hips and he feels the cold begin to set in, a frozen bite that feels numb and fiery like frostbite. He still can’t move or scream and so he lies there as the creeping change flowers over his broken body like a bruise and stills the jerks of pain moving his limbs. Panic rises and he tries in vain to do something, anything to make it stop, but _it_ is there and he cannot hope to stop it as it claims every inch of him. His tears fall in hot stripes along his cheeks and the tendrils reach over his jaw, caging his tongue and grasping at his face with wanting fingers.

There is laughter, raspy and wet and evil, echoing and reflecting against the mirrors in his mind. He feels the last few tears fall from his relaxed eyes and trace paths down his impassive mouth. The invasion is complete and he is outside himself, a husk inhabited by something darker and more sinister. Every ounce of him is crying out in denial, refusing the shadow that clings to his insides with cruel, scraping claws. He tries with all his might to battle with the blackness inside of him and he feels the thing sway but it does not move. _It_ simply laughs mockingly and he knows that it could probably break him until he is unrecognizable, but _it_ is waiting. It wants him to break on his own and for that reason it subsides- but not before engulfing him in flames one final time like a branded animal.

It leaves just as painfully as it came and he finds no respite in the clinging pieces of himself that are left behind. He is crying again but there is no relief in his tears. He knows that _it_ will be back, again and again, its wrath written inside of him where no one can see because that way they will not notice and he will never tell. He thinks for a hopeless moment that this thing cannot know how strong he is, cannot know what he will endure. He thinks for a moment but then he feels the tears under the skin, the ash and carvings and stains. He knows he will not last but in his realization he thinks that maybe he will die. He fervently hopes that he cannot take it and he will die and save everyone from _it_. He knows what death does and he wouldn’t wish it but there is no other alternative, not with its name written in places the eye cannot see.

The next time it will be faster because he will be weaker. He does not know this yet but he feels it at the back of his eyes where the fingernails scratched. When the pain subsides he takes a moment to pray, fervent and terrified. He will not let it get to those that he loves. With the last of the energy in him like drops at the bottom of a glass he manages to close his eyes tight and stop the tears. He will not let it win. He cannot.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this ages ago and for some reason never published it. I'm not sure why, really...it's just that I felt like it was so short and just not that great. I needed to write it, though, because I'm still getting the hang of writing the nogitsune. We didn't get to see anything from it firsthand like we did with other villains; it was always working through Stiles and the pack had to kind of figure stuff out on their own. Anyhow, read and review!


End file.
